


(my walls are tall but) the wind has changed

by shineyma



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Episode: s01e17 Turn Turn Turn, F/M, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:48:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24337666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shineyma/pseuds/shineyma
Summary: The first day of Grant's disciplinary hearing doesn't go well. The team has a plan.
Relationships: Jemma Simmons/Grant Ward
Comments: 27
Kudos: 140





	(my walls are tall but) the wind has changed

**Author's Note:**

> Ta-da!! Week TWENTY-ONE, if you can believe it!
> 
> Also if you can believe it, this is a response to a prompt I received in January of 2017. That's right, this week I was reduced to hopping back through my tumblr inbox in search of inspiration. (Then, after finishing this last night, I naturally woke up with _tons_ of inspiration this morning. The good news is I've got next week's fic half-written already.)
> 
> The prompt wouldn't be TOO spoilery, but I'm putting it in the end notes anyway. Here's hoping the nonnie who sent it is still around. Sorry for the wait lol.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading and, as always, please be gentle if you review! <3

After the way the first day of his disciplinary hearing went, Grant’s not surprised when Daisy and Fitzsimmons show up at the door of his secure quarters two hours after dinner. Touched? Sure. But not at all surprised.

Also not surprising is that Daisy barges in without so much as a hello. “So _that_ was brutal.”

“Please, come in,” he says, watching her bounce on the edge of his cot. “Make yourself at home.”

He is, of course, ignored. “Seriously, Ward, what the hell?”

“It _was_ rather…intense,” Simmons puts in.

“Linden was bloody rude,” Fitz adds, pairing it with a sympathetic slap to Grant’s back in passing. He and Simmons, at least, have the courtesy to sit at the table instead of on his bed.

“Right?” Daisy asks, throwing her hands out in vindication. “God, he went after you like he had a grudge.”

Grant, resigned to—and, though he wouldn’t admit it with a gun to his head, grateful for—the company, leans back against the door.

“He does,” he says simply. “Linden was a specialist before a career-ending injury forced him onto the Communications track. We were at the Academy together.”

“And that’s enough to have him grilling you like that?” Daisy demands. “What’d you do, outscore him on the obstacle course? Sleep with his soulmate?”

He grimaces.

“Beat him in every class,” he says, infusing just enough embarrassment into the words to make it sound like wry humor instead of a boast.

Not that there’s much point in keeping his cover when he’s about three days from being drummed off the team, but…he does it anyway. Call it habit. No point in dwelling on the future, after all—and in the present, Simmons looks hilariously offended.

“That,” she sputters, “that is just—completely unprofessional! I can’t believe him!”

“Can’t you?” Fitz asks with a sideways kind of look. “Remember that semester when Donna Calais was above you in the class rankings?”

Simmons spears him with a glare. “That was the result of a _technological error_ with the scoring software and you know it, Leopold Fitz. It was rectified within three hours!”

“Sure,” he agrees readily. “But in those three hours, if you’d had the chance to court martial her—”

“And furthermore,” she goes on, entertainingly annoyed, “you _swore_ never to bring it up again—”

“Well if you weren’t such a hypocrite—”

“Guys,” Daisy says loudly. “Not the time!”

They silence themselves at once, darting apologetic glances at Grant.

“Sorry, Ward,” Simmons nearly whispers. Fitz doesn’t even speak, just nods in agreement.

“It’s fine,” he says.

“It is _not_ fine,” Daisy says. “This guy can _not_ be allowed to lead the review board when he’s got a mondo grudge against you. There’s gotta be some kind of rule against that.”

“There is,” he allows, “but bringing in a new lead agent’s not gonna make much of a difference, Daisy.”

“Ward—”

“I killed an unarmed prisoner in cold blood,” he reminds her, shading the words with shame. “In front of multiple superior officers. On _camera_.” He shrugs, keeping it contained enough not to irritate his bruised ribs. “At this point, the hearing’s a formality.”

The three of them look heartbroken, and Grant’s not gonna lie—it gets to him. Maybe this team stuff started as an assignment, maybe he’s played them all a dozen times, maybe he took deliberate action to get them all as fond of him as they are…but somewhere along the way, he actually developed a genuine attachment to these losers.

It’s probably for the best that his time on the team’s coming to an end before that can get him into trouble.

“So that’s it?” she asks tearfully. “You shot someone to _protect us_ , and SHIELD’s just gonna—just gonna write you off?”

Not really. Sure, on paper he’ll be demoted and probably even locked up for a few years, but in reality, Hydra’ll have him spirited away before the end of the week. He’ll never work for SHIELD again, but he’s sure John’s got a whole list of assignments just waiting for him. It might be a relief, not to have to jump through SHIELD’s bureaucratic hoops anymore. Maybe he’ll even finally get his soulmark, if he gets to be himself all the time.

He can’t tell _them_ that, of course. He actually feels bad about it—that they’re gonna be miserably imagining him rotting away in a cell while he’s off living his life—but they can never know. He’s trying to think of something appropriately comforting/resigned to say when he notices that Fitz and Simmons don’t look anywhere near miserable.

In fact, they look downright excited.

“Maybe not,” Simmons says.

Fitz sits forward. “Simmons has a plan.”

Daisy brightens. “Jailbreak! Yes!”

“Jailbreak _no_ ,” Grant says sternly. He’s pretty sure it’s not what Simmons is planning anyway—she’s way more sensible than that—but he wants it on the record just in case.

“No,” she agrees, and draws a thumb drive out of her pocket. “You have your laptop, I trust?”

“Duh,” Daisy says, pulling it out of her bag. “Whatcha got? Plans for a quick knock-out gas? Incriminating pictures of Director Fury? Or…paperwork?”

The last is said with disappointment as she plugs the thumb drive into her laptop.

“What good is a…Form 287-B gonna do us?” she asks.

“An authorization to return to duty against medical advice?” Grant asks, equally confused. “I don’t think review boards count as medical advice, Simmons.”

Simmons rolls her eyes at them. “Check the date, Daisy.”

“Novem—?” Daisy squints at the screen. “What happened on November 19th?”

That’s not a date Grant’s ever gonna forget. “The berserker staff?”

“Precisely,” Simmons beams. “What Daisy has there is a form—”

“A very official form,” Fitz puts in.

“—that says I advised against allowing you to return to active duty after your exposure to the berserker staff,” she continues. “It lists my official recommendation as at least a year of desk duty and extensive anger management, with an evaluation at six months to determine your progress in learning to cope with the staff’s effect on your emotional control.”

Daisy’s nodding to herself as she scrolls through the form. “And here’s Coulson’s counter that Ward’s a vital member of the team who has his full confidence.”

Huh.

“I don’t remember hearing anything about this,” Grant says. Admittedly he was pretty out of it, those first couple days after he touched the staff…but if Simmons wanted him benched for a _year_ and Coulson had him back in the field within a week? He’s surprised he’s not _still_ hearing her bitch about it.

“No,” Simmons agrees.

“Because that form didn’t exist until an hour ago,” Fitz explains. He’s got an edge of glee to him, a mischievous little boy’s excitement at getting one over on his parents. “That’s the plan.”

“The plan is saying I was compromised?” Grant asks slowly.

“Isn’t that just kind of…making it worse?” Daisy looks just as lost as he feels. “Like, proving Linden’s point?”

“No,” Simmons says. “The plan is arguing that you were compromised and _your superior officer knew about it_.”

Ohhh. Okay. Grant sees where this is going. “My superior officer being Coulson, whose survival is classified a Level 7 secret.”

“Exactly.” Fitz slaps the table in his enthusiasm. “If Linden starts looking in Coulson’s direction, Fury—or at least Hill—will have to step in and shut it down. They’ll sweep the whole thing under the rug.”

“Okaaaaay,” Daisy says. “Well, putting aside what that says about SHIELD’s dedication to justice…this isn’t real, right? What are we gonna say, that Coulson just forgot to file the paperwork? The review board is gonna see right through that.”

“They would,” Simmons agrees, “which is where you come in.”

“You want me to hack the server,” she realizes. “Backdate the forms and make it look like they were always there.”

“I know it’s a lot to risk,” Simmons starts, but Daisy waves her off.

“Please,” she says, fingers already flying across the keys. “It’s for Ward. I’m on it.” She stills, looking up at Fitz. “I mean, assuming you’re—?”

Fitz nods firmly. “It’s for Ward. Do it.”

Daisy blows him a kiss and gets right back to it, and Grant…

Grant has to take a minute. He’s not _proud_ of it, but he does. Because this? This is—

Falsifying SHIELD records, medical and administrative. Conspiracy to expose classified information, in the form of Coulson’s survival. Hacking SHIELD. Perjury before the review board.

It _is_ a lot to risk. And they’re doing it for him.

Not just them, either—Coulson’s gotta be in on this. That full confidence stuff, that’s him all over. And Simmons would’ve needed his access codes to make the records look official. And if Coulson’s in on it, May, as his soulmate, is in on it, too. He’d know May’d go down with him either way—he’d never risk their careers without her okay.

It’s more than anyone but John’s ever done for him, so yeah, he needs a minute to deal with it.

Then he puts it aside and points out the glaring issue with this plan.

“Not that I don’t appreciate it,” he says, and—because he really does—makes his voice as warm as his uptight cover ever gets, “but there’s just one problem.”

Daisy’s fingers freeze. Simmons grimaces.

“Yes,” she says. “I know.”

“What?” Daisy asks. “What problem?”

“They won’t go straight to questioning the superior officer who overrode the medical advice,” Grant says. “They’ll start with the medic who offered it.”

Daisy winces. “Meaning Simmons?”

“Meaning Simmons,” he confirms.

“Admittedly, it’s not ideal,” Simmons says.

“Not ideal?” Daisy echoes. “Simmons, you _can’t lie_. Watching you try is literally _painful_.”

Simmons looks offended. “I’m not _that_ bad.”

“Yes, you are,” Fitz says. “Remember that time at the Sandb—ouch!”

“No, and neither do you,” Simmons says, with great dignity, like she didn’t just kick Fitz under the table. “But fine, yes, I’m a terrible liar. However, as the only medic who examined Ward in the wake of his exposure to the berserker staff, I’m our only option.”

“No,” Grant says, shaking his head. “No way. As soon as Linden realizes you’re lying, this little conspiracy’ll get blown wide open. I’m not taking the rest of you down with me.”

“Well _I’m_ not standing idly by while your life gets ruined because you wanted to protect us,” Simmons snaps. “I refuse.”

“There’s no point—”

“There’s _every_ point,” she interrupts, and then takes a deep breath. “In any case, I’ve taken note of where I’ve gone wrong with lying in the past. The problem with the…regrettable Sitwell Incident—”

Despite the gravity of the situation, Daisy and Fitz snicker. Grant’s gotta work to hold back a laugh himself. That’s just never gonna stop being funny.

“—was that I had to improvise,” she goes on like she hasn’t noticed their reactions. The flush on her cheeks suggests otherwise. “And the problem on the train was that I over-prepared and went into too much detail.” She gives him a hopeful smile. “All I need is to find a middle ground, yes?”

She also needs to eliminate her countless tells, but it’d probably be kinder not to point that out. Instead, Grant goes with the more practical concern, “The hearing resumes in less than twelve hours. You really think you can find a middle ground that fast?”

“With your help?” she asks. “Yes.”

Her determination—and Daisy and Fitz’s—is gonna be the death of him. “Simmons…”

“Ward,” she says, very softly. Her eyes have gone all big, the way they always do when she’s worried about him going into the field with a recent injury. “You’ve saved all our lives countless times. Please don’t ask us not to try to save yours.”

Hell.

He’s not gonna be able to talk them out of this, not with as little time as he’s got. Part of him doesn’t even _want_ to.

Well, if Simmons gets court martialed, he can always tug on Hydra’s strings, get her freed and working with him. She won’t thank him for it, of course, not with her morals, but he’s not any more willing to let one of his team rot in a cell than his team is apparently willing to let him.

“Fine,” he says, resigned. “If all else fails, it’ll be nice to have company in the Fridge.”

Simmons rolls her eyes and looks to Daisy. “Well?”

“You sure about this?” Daisy double checks, drumming her fingers on the edge of the keyboard. “Once I hit enter, the records’ll be in the system and there’s no going back. It’s not too late to go with the jailbreak plan.”

Rolling her eyes even harder, Simmons gets up and takes the two steps from the table to the bed. (His “definitely not a cell” secure quarters aren’t too shabby, but they’re also not very large.)

“I’m positive,” she says, leaning over Daisy, and hits the keyboard.

Then— _pain_.

Something’s aching under Grant’s skin, searing, _burning_. It’s the worst pain he’s ever felt, worse than getting shot, worse than that time he got stabbed with a hot poker, worse than _anything_ —

Just as fast as it started, it ends, and Grant realizes he’s bent nearly double, clinging to the table for support. Heart pounding, breath short, he slowly straightens—and realizes that, steps away, Simmons is doing the same.

Was that—? Is she—?

“Oh my _god_ ,” Daisy squeaks. “Did you two just—?”

Slowly, shakily, Grant tugs down his collar.

The name _Jemma Simmons_ has written itself across the upper left side of his chest.

It’s a soulmark. Simmons— _Jemma_ —is his soulmate.

With the tiny, nearly nonexistent part of his mind that’s still capable of rational thought, he thinks very distantly that he’s gonna have to come up with a really good explanation for this—because sooner or later, someone’s gonna wonder about him and Simmons becoming compatible while plotting against their own agency.

The rest of him is way too overwhelmed with giddy relief to care.

“Yeah,” he says faintly.

“We’re soulmates,” Jemma breathes, equally faint. It’s not really necessary, but he still appreciates that she pulls down her own collar so he can see the _Grant Ward_ curling just above the cup of her bra. It’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

Daisy claps her hands over her mouth, then immediately drops them to cover her heart, instead—or maybe just her own soulmark. Fitz is looking soppy, too.

“You _guys_ ,” she says tearily.

“Happy for you, Simmons,” Fitz mutters, getting up to hug Jemma.

If Grant hadn’t spent their entire time on the team watching Fitz get progressively stupider over Daisy as their bond solidified, he might be jealous at the way Jemma buries her face in his shoulder. As it is, he knows he’s got nothing to worry about when it comes to Jemma and Fitz.

Not to mention, he’s still a little too overwhelmed for any other emotions to take hold.

Jemma is his soulmate. After waiting his entire life for her, he spent almost a _year_ sharing close quarters with her without any idea. He jumped out of a plane after his soulmate. He used saving her life to _manipulate his soulmate_.

Fuck.

He’s gonna regret that later, he knows—that so much of his relationship with Jemma this far has been calculated manipulation. That she only knows him as his cover.

For now? All he can feel is relief.

…And the impact of Daisy throwing herself at him in a hug.

“Congratulations!” she squeals.

“Thanks,” he says. He’s so overcome, he doesn’t even think to push her away. “I—”

He’s got nothing. No words at all. Nothing cover appropriate, yeah, but nothing cover _in_ appropriate, either. He’s just…so relieved.

“I know,” Daisy whispers, and squeezes him harder.

She does know, he thinks. Daisy didn’t even know her own _name_ until she met Fitz and recognized his—until she was able to ask him, that first day, what was written across his chest.

Daisy, of all people, knows what this means to him.

That in mind, he keeps on not pushing her away. Just lets her hug him—and maybe even hugs back a little—until she steps back. What she does after moving aside, he couldn’t say; his entire being is focused on Jemma and the four-three-two steps that separate them.

“So,” his soulmate—his _soulmate_ —says. “Soulmates.”

“Soulmates,” he agrees, shaking his head. “Can’t say I saw that coming.”

“No.” She bites her lip. The look she gives him from under her lashes hits him right in the gut. “Neither did I.”

“Yeah, what’re the odds?” Daisy asks, totally ruining the moment. “That our _entire team_ would turn out to be soulmate paiii…and I’m interrupting. So sorry.”

Jemma laughs.

“Our part’s done here anyway,” Fitz says. Might be his instincts kicking in to protect his soulmate from Grant’s urge to physically throw her out of the room—or it might just be that as Jemma’s completely platonic best friend, he really doesn’t wanna see Grant kiss her.

Either way, Daisy swiftly packs up her laptop as Fitz moves to activate the intercom. (Grant might not be in an actual cell, but he _is_ under investigation—no way was SHIELD putting him in quarters that didn’t lock from the outside.)

“We’re ready to come out now,” Fitz announces.

Static answers him.

Grant trades a confused look with Jemma.

“Uh,” Daisy says. “Was that a no?”

“Hello?” Fitz asks, hitting the intercom button again. “We’re ready to come out!”

Still nothing but static.

“Something’s wrong with the intercom?” Jemma asks without looking away from Grant. He understands; he can’t really look away from her, either. If not for all his years as a specialist, he’d have no idea what’s going on beyond the look on her face.

From the sound of it, Fitz pries back the panel to examine the wiring. “Shouldn’t be.”

“Uh, guys?” Daisy asks. “My phone’s not working.”

At that, Grant _does_ force himself to look away from Jemma. “What?”

“Yeah,” she says, holding it up. “The secure network’s down.”

“That’s impossible,” Jemma says blankly. “The secure network is supported by thirty-seven separate failsafes. Even the Battle of New York didn’t so much as cause a blip.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Simmons.” Daisy pokes at her phone, scowling. “It’s not working. There’s just some…weird signal overriding everything.”

Grant is getting a really bad feeling about this.

“Lemme see if I can decode it.” Daisy is starting to swing her bag off her shoulder, but it quickly proves unnecessary.

The base intercom crackles overhead, and someone—a male someone, definitely _not_ Agent Victoria Hand, who has command of the Hub—announces, “Out of the shadows, into the light! HAIL HYDRA!”

Fuck.

Only decades of self control keep Grant from swearing aloud. Of all the fucking nights—really? _Really?_ Seventy goddamn years Hydra’s been under, and they decide basically the _exact moment_ he gets his soulmate is a good time for the uprising?

Fucking typical.

And speaking of his soulmate, Jemma’s gone worryingly pale.

“Did he—” She stops, swallows. “Did he just say Hydra?”

“Yeah,” Fitz says, looking queasy. “He did.”

“Like…Hydra Hydra?” Daisy asks. “Red Skull, Nazi, _defeated-in-the-forties_ Hydra?”

“Surely not,” Fitz says, but he doesn’t look convinced.

“Wa—Grant?” Jemma asks. In any other circumstances, he’d smile at her stumble over his name.

In these circumstances…

“I don’t know,” he says, “but that didn’t sound good. I don’t think we want to be in locked quarters right now.” He jerks his chin at the door. “Think you can get that door open, Daisy?”

“On it,” Daisy says at once.

Grant’s always had a vague plan in mind in case the uprising ever happened. He even adjusted it to account for the possibility it could happen while he was with various members of the team.

Too bad that plan didn’t account for meeting his soulmate literal _minutes before_.

There’s no way he’ll be able to plan _anything_ if he doesn’t deal with the buzzing under his skin first, so after a bare second of debate, he closes the two steps between him and Jemma and takes her hands in his.

Her eyes flutter shut. “Oh.”

 _Oh_ is right. The feeling that sweeps him at the skin contact is—indescribable. He doesn’t even know where to start.

But it was worth waiting his whole life for.

With Jemma’s skin against his, he can think clearly again…and what he thinks is that he needs to get Jemma, Fitz, and Daisy back to the Bus. With any luck, Coulson and May’ll be there and they can flee the Hub entirely, set down somewhere isolated until things with the uprising settle and they can come up with a plan.

And even if Coulson and May _aren’t_ there, the Bus is a hell of a better defensible position than a base he only set foot in for the first time this morning. He knows every inch of the Bus, its capabilities, and its munitions stores. He can protect them there.

With a triumphant noise, Daisy steps back from the door. It slides open—letting in the sound of gunfire and distant shouts. Jemma’s eyes open, and she looks terrified.

“Okay,” Grant says. “We’re heading for the Bus. You three stick close to me and do _exactly_ as I say, understand?”

“Got it,” Fitz says.

“No complaints here,” Daisy agrees.

Jemma only squeezes his hands.

“Stick close to me,” he says again—just to her, this time. “I’ll keep you safe.”

“I know,” she murmurs.

He wants to kiss her—but if he starts, he knows he won’t stop, uprising be damned. He contents himself with lifting one of her hands to kiss her knuckles instead, reveling briefly in the adorable way her eyes go wide.

Then he lets her go and breaks a leg off the nearest chair. Not a great weapon to wield against countless enemy agents with guns, but definitely better than nothing.

“With me,” he says, and leads the way out into the chaos.

The lights flicker out as they go.

+++

On a normal day, the walk from the holding quarters to the Hub’s hangar takes about forty-five minutes.

It’s nowhere near a normal day.

Grant does his best to lead them around every potential confrontation. They spend ages ducking into empty rooms and hiding until the chaos moves past them, waiting out as much as they can. When hiding is impossible—often—he moves with brutal efficiency, crossing off anyone who looks at them sideways in ten seconds or less.

He can’t afford to worry about what a rookie agent and two scientists think about his ruthless violence. He sure as hell doesn’t stop to dither over keeping his cover.

Nobody’s touching his soulmate. _Nobody_.

Besides hiding and crossing people off, they also waste precious minutes having to backtrack and take circuitous routes. Someone’s got grenades or explosives or _something_ , because there are multiple halls blocked off by debris.

More than once, Grant has them double back when he hears marching feet approaching. He arms himself sufficiently to take out a platoon within five minutes of leaving his quarters, and if he were alone he’d probably face any number of enemy agents at once in the name of speed—but he’s not risking Jemma, Daisy, and Fitz.

All told, they spend seven hours traversing the length of the Hub…and in the end, they don’t even make it to the hangar.

They all note, in the last two hours, that the horrible soundtrack of guns, screaming, and explosions is starting to fade. In hour six, the lights come back on.

In hour seven, they cross paths with May two corridors over from the nerve center.

( _Cross paths_ meaning Grant comes within about three seconds of shooting her, of course.)

“May,” he says, lowering his gun with relief.

“Ward.” Her eyes sweep over Jemma, Daisy, and Fitz, and then she gives him an approving nod. “Status?”

“Lost and confused,” Daisy pipes up. She sounds shaken, but a glance back at her proves she’s still got a firm grip on the gun he gave her hours ago. Good. “What is going _on_?”

“Hydra,” May says darkly.

“Yeah, we got that much,” Grant says. “Not so defeated after all?”

“No,” she says, and turns back the way she came. “Hand’s taken control back. There’s still fighting in the outer wings, but we’ve secured the nerve center.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” Jemma murmurs. “We’re safe.”

“For now,” May says.

Ominous, but practical. Control could shift in an instant…especially if any Hydra agents are playing the long game. Grant resolves to keep an eye on Hand and all of her people.

As for himself…he still can’t care about anything beyond keeping his soulmate and his team safe. If John were here it’d be different, but without him? Grant’s staying right where he is, cover included. (As much as it can be after Jemma, Daisy, and Fitz watched him kill dozens of people without hesitation or remorse, at least.)

“What about Coulson?” Fitz asks as they follow May through the half-ruined halls.

“He’s fine,” she says, and leaves it at that.

May’s taciturn by nature, true, but something about her short answers is making Grant nervous. With SHIELD in the middle of falling—or at least in danger of it—he’d expect more from her. Questions or explanations or…something.

That in mind, he lengthens his stride until he’s walking beside her.

“Problem?” he asks.

The glance she flicks at him does not fill him with confidence.

“What?” he asks.

May shakes her head. “Talk to Coulson.”

If he thought her ‘for now’ was ominous, _that_ sounds downright dire.

Jemma must agree; she hurries up and, after the barest hesitation, takes his hand. Some of the tension falls away from his shoulders automatically. He can’t _not_ feel better with her hand in his. It’s kind of amazing.

One of May’s eyebrows twitches.

“We’re soulmates,” he tells her.

May takes that in for a second. “…Since when?”

“We got our marks approximately five minutes before the announcement was made,” Jemma supplies. He squeezes her fingers at the resignation in her tone. Spending their first night as soulmates caught in the middle of an uprising isn’t exactly the stuff dreams are made of, to be fair. He’ll figure out a way to make it up to her.

After a moment of consideration, May nods.

“Congratulations,” she says, and leaves it at that.

Grant’s not one to put off the inevitable, so when they reach the nerve center, he doesn’t waste any time heading straight for Coulson.

…Who looks gratifyingly relieved at the sight of him, so his cover’s probably not in danger, at least. That’s something.

“May said you wanted to talk to me?” Grant asks.

“I did,” Coulson says gravely—and then hesitates, looking at Jemma. “Simmons?”

“We’re soulmates,” she says, “as of seven hours ago.”

Coulson’s face softens into something decidedly soppy. “I’m very happy for you both. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, sir,” Grant says. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Should I leave?” Jemma asks, loosening her hold on his hand. He can’t help but tighten his own in response.

“No,” Coulson says after the barest hesitation. “No, it’s probably better if you don’t.” He takes a deep breath, then meets Grant’s eyes evenly. “I’m sorry. Garrett’s the Clairvoyant.”

…What.

For a full ten seconds, Grant can’t grasp a single coherent thought. His mind is just…completely blank. All he can do is stare at Coulson.

Then Jemma wraps around him in a sideways hug, and his brain restarts.

“No,” he says automatically. “No, that’s—that’s not possible.”

“I’m sorry, Grant,” Coulson says again. “He confessed—and nearly killed us in the process.”

Confessed? Why the _fuck_ would he do that?

…No. The question is why _not_. With Hydra rising and the GH-325 in hand, John had no reason _not_ to reveal himself. He was ready to move on—that much was clear from the moment he let Deathlok lead them to Nash.

Grant should’ve seen this coming. He _would_ have seen this coming, if he hadn’t been distracted by Jemma. Jemma and Fitz and Daisy and the need to keep them all safe.

Fuck. This is what attachments get him.

But with Jemma plastered against his side, looking up at him with her heart written all over her face—her worry for him, her hurt for the hurt she assumes he’s feeling—he can’t regret it.

“Is he dead?” he asks roughly, because that’s his first concern.

“No,” Coulson says gently. “Just restrained. He’ll spend the rest of his life in the Fridge.”

Coulson’s a soft touch, and seeing Grant lean on his soulmate to recover from this news will help sell the cover.

That’s not why Grant turns, grabs Jemma in a real hug, and buries his face in her hair, though. Just the excuse he needs not to hold back the urge.

“Oh, Grant,” she says softly, and he grips her tighter, trying to ground himself in the sensation. The cotton of her shirt, the smoke that’s settled in her hair, the warmth of her skin—he lets it fill up his world, blocking out the nerve center and the team both.

What should he do? What _can_ he do?

He knows what he would’ve done yesterday. Yesterday, he would’ve spun some sob story about needing to turn the key on John’s cell himself to get on the team transporting him to the Fridge. Then he would’ve crossed off the rest of the transport team, freed John, and followed him wherever, never once looking back.

Today…

Today, he’s got a soulmate. And maybe that wouldn’t be enough to stop him—he could always bring Jemma along, play up his need for her, and use their bond as it develops to tie her to him despite his loyalties. She’d hate him for a while, until he won her over, but he could bear it. To get to keep her forever? He could bear anything.

But it’s not just Jemma he needs to think about. There’s the team.

Yesterday, he wouldn’t have hesitated to walk away from them. He’d have missed them when he went, but he wouldn’t have hesitated.

But now? After _all_ of them were willing to risk going down with him to save him from life in a cell? After they were willing to lie and falsify records and conspire against SHIELD, all for him?

Even John’s never gone that far for him—and never would. John’s never been shy about the fact he considers everyone expendable, Grant included. Hell, John nearly killed him a few months ago; that shot he took on the bridge in LA the night Coulson was kidnapped could easily have been fatal.

He’s never dwelled on that. He knows John cares about him, and that’s more than he’s ever had from anyone else. And now—

Coulson was disgusted, he thinks as he slowly breathes in the faintest lingering hint of perfume on Jemma’s neck. When Grant shot Nash—a helpless, unarmed prisoner—he wasn’t just angry, he was _disgusted_ that Grant could kill a helpless man.

So was Daisy, when she visited him in the Cage.

They were ready to help him anyway—to risk everything to help him.

 _It’s for Ward_ , Daisy said, and Fitz right after her. _It’s for Ward_.

Fuck.

“Grant?” Jemma asks, voice barely a whisper. Her hand moves up to cup the back of his neck, fingers moving gently through his hair. “Are you all right?”

“No,” he says, and for once, the ragged note to his voice is completely genuine.

The arm wrapped around his waist tightens.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, sounding just as wrecked as he does. Because she cares. Because even before she knew they were soulmates, she always cared. “What do you need?”

For John not to have confessed, but it’s too late to change that. To live this day over, but that’s impossible—and he doesn’t even know what he’d change if he could.

He needs it not to be a choice between the only real father he’s ever had and his team. But it was always gonna end this way.

Grant breathes in slowly, imprinting the scent of Jemma—smoke and all—on his memory. Memorizing the feel of her in his arms, the way she holds him.

Then slowly, reluctantly, he lets her go. He turns to Coulson.

“I need a distraction,” he says, honestly rough. “Give me something to do.”

He chooses the team.

**Author's Note:**

> The anonymous prompt (from 2017! *shame*): soulmates, hand kiss, cotton


End file.
